


Mixed Pastries

by ruthmakesstuff (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, bipolar!Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ruthmakesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is playing with fire. Also, pastries happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed Pastries

“Anders, is that _burning_ I smell?”

Hawke’s words got through to Anders as if through a fog. His thoughts were racing, buzzing, piling on top of each other one after the other with no pause for breath. It was as if he had a brain full of static, he thought. Or loud, angry bees.

He looked at her, focused on focusing on her.

“Yes.” He was firm, and nodded once, before warming up another ball of fire in his hands.

“Was that your manifesto?” Hawke looked concerned – not for the manifesto specifically, as there were about three copies in the Hawke estate alone, but for Anders’ mindset.

“Yes.” Again firm, and again with the nod. He found it easier to be monosyllabic in this kind of state – it was the only way he could focus on what he was saying. Otherwise, his words ran away with his thoughts and just became a jumbling, tripping mess.

“Why?”

An open-ended question. _Why?_

He didn’t look at Hawke for a good while, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find some clarity and organisation among the loud, angry bees. Then he shook his head, and banged his fist against the bench he was sitting on, flames jumping into the air in response.

Hawke had never seen him like this. Euphoric, yes, and depressed, yes, but this was somehow both and neither.

The fire in his hands grew larger still, and even from the doorway she could see that his mind was working furiously. 

“Anders,” she said, “it’s okay.”

The flames suddenly dropped, and she was startled to hear a strangled sob come from the man.

“I – can’t. It’s too much.”

He stood up, suddenly, and began pacing. 

Hawke went to calm him, and put her hand on his arm, as if to soothe a spooked horse, but there was a sudden flare of blue and she backed off.

“Leave me _alone_.” The words were harsh, but he sounded torn.

“Okay, Anders. Okay.” She left the basket of pastries she’d brought with her on a bench, and left, quietly. They felt like a peace offering, now, which was never how she intended them to be.

 

“I’m sorry.”

A silhouette appeared at Hawke’s doorway, stooping slightly to not hit his head on the doorframe.

“I don’t understand what I saw.”

“Can I come in?” Usually a courtesy, this time he sounded uncertain as to what Hawke’s answer would be.”

Slowly, Hawke nodded.

“It’s just – it’s that _intensity_ with the most, most _horrible_ of feelings. I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t want you to leave so much as I needed to be alone. Does that make sense, my love?”

“It does, I think.” The term of endearment comforted her – he was clearly now not in the same place as he was earlier.

Anders cleared his throat. “I brought the pastries with me. I thought we could have them together?”

“And get crumbs on the bedsheets? How wicked.” She grinned.

“Very wicked. Let’s do it.” He grinned back.

They looked at each other, still smiling, and shared a kiss. It was all alright, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Mixed episodes are Not Fun, kids. Also very difficult to write. Pastries are always helpful, though.


End file.
